What a Wonderful World
by Waterfall-Orchid
Summary: MJ doesn't dance. But she will for Peter Parker. But the one thing, the one thing she vows she will never do, something her stupidly cute boyfriend cannot change is singing. Absolutely off limits. She will never sing. Over her dead body. Or ... at least she tells herself that. (Peter and Michelle's relationships throughout the years, centering around their old rusty record player)


**There are minor Far From Home spoilers. This does take place after it. BUT WE ARE IGNORING THAT MID CREDITS SCENE … because…. damn. I have no idea how to write that.**

**I love Peter Parker and Michelle Jones. That's it. Enjoy :).**

* * *

Senior prom. It's not the first time they had heard the song. Everyone in the whole wide world had probably heard the song before. But that night, it had turned into _theirs_. Their song. A special moment, a prayer to their love, a part of them. It just _clicked_.

She could still see his sparkling brown eyes under the poorly installed mood lights in their school gym. They'd been dating for around a year at the time, but his eyes still had the same dizzying effect on her. A fuzzy, warm, deep clench of her heart. Her lips would quirk up involuntarily and she would find herself lost in them.

He made her feel like a lovesick puppy, just by staring at her. And, MJ hated to admit it, it would never change.

The sparkle in his eyes as he dragged her towards the dance floor. His warm hands on her bare back and on her waist. It wasn't like she didn't want to dance, or that she _couldn't_. She was wearing her nike sneakers to prom, because, _sue_ her, she wanted to be able to walk the next morning. There was a protest scheduled that she'd been preparing for _weeks_ the next day.

She just wasn't the best at dancing. Or singing, for that matter. But due to the loud, reverberating speakers in the gym, no one could even hear themselves think. So she wasn't quite worried about singing. She was more worries about not breaking Peter's toes.

It was one of those cliche moments, always in high school movies. The DJ announces "it's a slow one for the couples. Grab your girl" or whatever, that stupid shit.

But she couldn't say no to Peter. She would even dance in _public_ for him, and she never danced. Even though it was really only slow dancing, basically just swaying, she wasn't the type. But she'd go along with anything for him, it was embarrassing.

But she wouldn't sing.

No signing.

So she followed him dumbly, a hint of a nervous smile on her face, as he wrapped his arms around her waist and she wrapped his around his neck, her hands playing with his soft curls. Intoxicating.

_I see trees of green_

_Red roses too_

_I see them bloom_

_For me and you_

_And I think to myself_

_What a wonderful world_

"Did you practice with May?" MJ teased, her eyes narrowing and a grin splitting itself onto her face.

"_Psh_, no," Peter chuckled, shrugging. He smiled softly back at her, their eyes and bodies mixing together, "I'm just a good dancer" (not really, he later admitted. Or he didn't, May did.)

_I see skies of blue_

_And clouds of white_

_The bright blessed day_

_The dark sacred night_

_And I think to myself_

_What a wonderful world_

The bubbly feeling in her chest only multiplied as the two swayed to the music. She never thought she would ever feel this way. She could feel the broken black dahlia necklace resting on her collarbone as they swayed, lost in each other. They only stepped on each other's toes a few times, which to her, was an _absolute_ win.

The feeling of _completeness _of _warmness _and complete safety. Just from one person.

_The colors of the rainbow_

_So pretty in the sky_

_Are also on the faces_

_Of people going by_

_I see friends shaking hands_

_Saying, "How do you do?"_

_They're really saying_

_"I love you"_

Someone that you love more than yourself. Every cell of your body craves to be with the person. When your eyes lock and everything seems just right. Perfect. Everything around you pauses and you're in that exact, perfect moment.

Blah, nauseating. MJ couldn't even believe she was thinking like that.

_I hear babies cry_

_I watch them grow_

_They'll learn much more_

_Then I'll never know_

_And I think to myself_

_What a wonderful world_

His warm body and firm, safe hands planted on her. She leaned into him, placing a soft kiss on his lips. Peter smiled involuntarily against her, both of their eyes closing in bliss. Their breaths in sync, together, attached.

"I love you," Peter breathed, pressing a kiss against her forehead and then into the crook of her neck.

MJ closed her eyes, letting out a soft breath. "I love you," she repeated back, her voice unwavering. Such certainty it made her shiver, with adoration but with terror at the same time.

_Yes, I think to myself_

_What a wonderful world_

**. . . . .**

When her phone rang she knew something was off immediately, before even looking at the caller ID.

She was in her dorm room at Empire, her roommate, Jessica, was on her side of the room, chewing her gum stupidly loud. MJ was working on her phycology paper. She decided to write it on various serial killers. You know, just MJ stuff.

It was Friday, and MJ and Peter were supposed to meet up and take the train down to Boston to visit Ned at MIT. When her phone rang at first she suspected it to be Ned or Peter. But it didn't make sense, Peter was less than a five-minute walk away in another dorm room and would just show up if he needed to tell her something. And Ned hated phone calls.

Her phone rang and her fingers on her keyboard, stiffened immediately, the tone in the room changing. She glanced at her phone, the caller ID knocking the wind out of her.

She must have just kept on staring at it, and after a while, it went to voicemail. She sucked in a breath, forcing her eyes to blink. And then it started up again.

Her roommate shot her a half concerned half annoyed glare and MJ gulped, picking her phone up and swiping at her screen. She hadn't even realized her hands were shaking.

"_Mom_?"

Peter found her four hours later, laying on the cold grass under a tree in a random park. It was well past midnight by then, and all MJ had been doing was staring at the faint stars in the sky.

Peter didn't say anything as he sat next to her, his legs crossed. She didn't look at him, instead just continuing to focus on the stars.

"He's dead," she breathed, her voice breaking. She shut her eyes painfully, feeling a tear drip down her face.

Peter stared at her and laid on the grass next to her. She was shivering and Peter wrapped an arm around her, pulling her closer to his body heat.

Michelle shut her eyes painfully as a silent sob broke through her. She leaned into Peter's touch, her head nuzzled against his strong chest. He held her silently as she sobbed, and cried, and cried. She cried for what felt like hours.

She felt a sudden rush of anger and pulled away from Peter, sitting up. Peter sat up beside her. She could see the care in his eyes under the moonlight and she wiped angrily at her eyes, forcing her tears to stop. "And she-" MJ glared harder at the night sky, clenching her teeth, "And she had the audacity to call me. I-I I had to hear that-" MJ froze, starting to shake. Peter's finger traced MJ's cheek, lightly, lovingly, wiping a tear away. Michelle's face crumbled and she covered it with her hands. "And he's dead. My dad's dead."

She learned later it was because his caravan drove over a bomb. He died on impact. Which was strangely comforting. She couldn't bear to think of him dying slowly, alone, in a desert somewhere across the world.

She felt Peter grab her into his embrace as she shook and cried and trembled. His hands rubbed her back soothingly and he stayed quiet, just listening to her and offering her support.

He went to the funeral with her. Held her hand as she stood there, watching the rifle party and hearing the sound of Taps. She watched numbly as they folded up the American flag and handed it to her, it felt heavy in her hands. Her mom didn't show up.

She began to shut herself off, not leaving her dorm room. Not answering calls or responding to texts. Until Peter busted into her dorm room, ignoring the protests of the other girls telling him it wasn't allowed.

She glanced up from her spot on her bed at Peter's concerned yet hard gaze. He walked towards her, "I'm not going to allow you to do this to yourself."

She narrowed her eyes at him, her heart lurching. "Leave, Peter."

He shook his head, throwing the covers off of her, "Nope, come one."

MJ squared her shoulders back, eyes narrowing further, "_Parker_." He grabbed her hand but she hissed, swatting it away from him, her gaze hardening. "Leave me alone. I just want to be alone-" Her demeanor started to crack and she pressed her lips into a firm line, feeling her throat start to ache, "Leave me alone-" He pulled her into a strong hug and she struggled against him, hitting his chest until she crumbled, tears starting to flow.

_Never got the chance_

_To say the last goodbye_

_I gotta move on_

_But it hurts to try_

_How do I love, how do I love again?_

_How do I trust, how do I trust again?_

If anyone knows how she's feeling, it's Peter. With Ben and Tony. The feeling of loss and anguish, the hollow heartbeats in her chest.

He brought her with him to stay at May's apartment for the weekend, away from campus. The laid in his bed, for the most part, watching murder mysteries or _The Office_. Until she was ready, and the two of them bundled up and went walking out at night through Queens. They took the subway to their favorite restaurant, but never actually went in, only walking around silently together.

At first, she thought she was hearing things, thought her mind was playing cruel tricks on her. She felt his hand move to her lower back and guide her softly through the crowds of the dirty subway. Their song filled her ears and she glanced from the floor to Peter's face, to the street performer sitting on a bucket with his guitar, singing softly.

She gulped tenderly and Peter's comforting, earnest eyes met her sad ones. He wiped a curly stray hair out of her face and smiled softly. He raised his brows at her and she shook her head.

Peter ignored her, and wrapped both of his hands around her waist, gripping softly, and started to sway.

Stupid, loving, puppy dog Peter Parker started to _sway_. Stupid awkward clumsy dancer Peter Parker. He really did love to dance. Even if 90% of the time it was cavity inducing sugar awkwardness.

For a moment she just stood there awkwardly as Peter stupidly swayed to the music. He wiggled his eyebrows at her and his eyes sparkled. And for the first time in days, she started to breath easier, her chest and soul opening up. Her lips quirked up and she finally wrapped her arms around his neck, warmth seeping back into her eyes.

_I see skies of blue_

_And clouds of white_

_The bright blessed day_

_The dark sacred night_

She could feel his hot breath tickling her curls around her ear, his soft, seemingly wrapped in silk, voice murmuring,

"_And I think to myself_

_What a wonderful world"_

She rested her head on his shoulder, breathing in his familiar scent of lavender shampoo. The two ignored the stares from fellow New Yorkers and just continued to sway to the music. Her heart started to heal as Peter held her close, and she let a gentle wisp of a smile rest on her face.

_What a wonderful world. _

**. . . . .**

MJ decides that finals are a bitch. And it wasn't helping that Peter had already finished all of his, damn genius. It really wasn't fair.

She had tried to get him out of their apartment hours beforehand, but he had basically refused.

"_You're Spiderman," MJ deadpanned, watching him make ramen noodles in their kitchen. She blinked at him, her eyes tired from the hours of studying, "There's a whole city to protect."_

_Peter shrugged at her, taking a bite of hard noodles. MJ's nose wrinkled in disgust. He was always too impatient to wait for it to cook properly. Peter plopped himself on their kitchen counter, "It's a slow night."_

_MJ let out a huff of air and glanced back down at her books, willing her eyes to focus. "May?"_

"_On a date with Happy," Peter replied, his voice lowering. _

_MJ's lips quirked upward and glanced at his brooding expression. She rolled her eyes, "Ned?"_

"_Still in Boston."_

"_I thought he was coming up today?"_

"_His train was delayed."_

_MJ looked back up at Peter, who was staring at her with his puppy dog eyes, "Can't I just stay here? I pay half the rent!"_

_She narrowed her eyes at him menacingly, "I have to study."_

But she allowed him to stay anyway, on the promise that he would be as quiet as he could. She was on her tenth hour of studying for the night and Peter had retreated to their bedroom. She could hear _The Office_ playing through their apartment's thin walls. And then she heard it stop and his nimble footsteps on the ground.

She heard their creaky old bedroom door open, reminding herself to ask Peter to oil it later. And she swore under her breath as her tired eyes looked up from her book and met his eyes.

"Peter, I'm trying to understand this- I've read the same thing for the past five minutes- _What_?-" She guffawed at him as he tore the biochem book out of her hand and closed it, dropping it not so gracefully on the floor next to their couch.

"That's because you've been studying nonstop for 10 hours."

She rolled her eyes, maneuvering her way past him to grab the book but he was faster, his arm catching her wrist, cocking a challenging eyebrow at her.

She narrowed her eyes. His sparkled in contrast, a shit eating grin on his face.

"You know it's been proven that listening to music helps people study?" Peter continued, maneuvering his way across their small living room to the old record player he had basically stolen from May.

Michelle leaned back against the pillows, crossing her arms, "Do you know how important this final is-"

"Exercising also helps," Peter continued, his back to MJ now. "And relaxing does too." He turned back towards her, a grin on his face, "And I know one way to achieve both of those things. _Dancing_!" The old record player sputtered to life and their familiar song started up, the melody making her heart clench.

She felt her lips quirk up automatically but she steeled her face, "I really have to study, Parker." She watched as he walked back towards her, grabbing both of her hands and pulling her dead weight body against his. "I don't have time to do this right now."

While the old record player really _was_ sweet, the speakers were pretty worse for wear. So Peter used it as an excuse to sing as loud as he could. She felt his warm hands placed securely on her back and the vibrations of his voice as he swayed them both, almost causing her to trip.

Peter grinned at her, basically yelling out,

_"I see trees of green_

_Red roses too_

_I see them bloom_

_For me and you"_

She giggled involuntarily, trying to push herself away from him, but his hands only tightened around her.

_"I see friends shaking hands_

_Saying, "How do you do?"_

_They're really saying_

_'I love you'"_

Peter coughed, his vocal cords _not_ happy with his choice of screaming the lyrics. MJ snorted and he He had an expression of mock hurt on his face, "Why won't you sing with me?"

She raised her eyebrows at him, "_That's_ singing?"

He rolled his eyes and MJ wrapped her arms around his neck, finally swaying with him. "We're alone," he whined, "And singing is a good destresser."

"I don't sing."

He narrowed his eyes at her, determined. "That'll change, sooner or later. Since we live together now."

MJ pursed her lips teasingly, and he spun her around suddenly. Her grip tightened around his shoulders and he dipped her.

"I don't think this type of dancing goes along with this song."

He shrugged, his eyes twinkling. "Who cares." And then his lips met hers and she closed her eyes.

_What a wonderful world._

**. . . . .**

Mornings with Peter are something else, MJ decides. They're her favorite time with him. No matter how late he stayed at work or out patrolling, he was always there when she woke up.

Things were going really well, except the occasional medical sesh Peter would have to endure. The life of a vigilante.

She was happy. He was happy. They were happy. And content.

Things were going really well. They were graduating soon and she had landed a journalist job at an up and coming newspaper. It was gaining some momentum and she could step out of her box, write about things she wanted to write about. She was basically her own boss.

She and Peter had their own apartment they were sharing, and sure, _yeah_, it was really old. And needed a lot of repairs and they barely had any furniture, but it was a lot better than the old dorm rooms and bratty roommates they had to endure.

And the best thing was she had Peter. And Peter had her. She would see him every morning, and _most_ nights. Sometimes they would catch lunch in between work and classes. When he wasn't in the lab or on a top-secret Avengers mission across seas and she wasn't studying or at work, they spent every waking moment together.

Hours spent studying in coffee shops, quick lunches on their way to class, lazy afternoons in Peter's apartment, long nights they spent alone. But mornings were her favorite by far. She wasn't necessarily a morning person, but Peter made it all worth it.

On mornings like these, when she woke up before Peter and just watched the rise and fall of his chest, his calm, peaceful face, could feel his warm, heavy, arm resting on her stomach, it was perfect. She could imagine hints of what their future could be. On some days, especially the lazy ones, after a full day of homework, when Peter would be drifting off to sleep, he would rest his head in her lap and drift off. Michelle would catch herself playing with his hair, thinking of what a life, a real life, with Peter would be.

Michelle had never imagined herself to be the domestic type, never used to subscribe to the fantasies of weddings, marriage, and children like all her mutuals, friends, co-workers, _everybody_ had. Her parents weren't the conventional type, so for most of her life, Michelle never used to think she could ever find a love like in the movies. She thought it was impossible. Made up. Heart clenching, sugar rotting love that everyone around the world yearned for. She had problems opening up to people and had set walls up during the early years of her life. Until she met Peter. He brought her walls down, he brought out the truest form of herself.

He'd held and comforted her through the hardest moments of her life; through her father's death, through sleepless weeks, through legal battles with her mom. And she'd held him through his nightmare induced days and had stitched him up to many times to count. They were their best selves together. And they were happy.

Being with Peter, five years now, moving in with him, spending nights, and mornings, and lunch runs made her feel like _maybe, _that kind of life wasn't far out of reach.

Obviously, not anytime soon. The two were as happy as can be and were cherishing every moment. MJ didn't really want anything to change, but maybe… in the future. They could.

All her worries, anxieties, fears for the day to come and their future melted when he would open his chocolate eyes. His dopey smile. His hands tightened around her waist and pulled her in closer, impossibly closer. She grinned, closing her eyes and breathed in the morning air.

Her eyes fluttered open as she felt the slow, calculated drag of lips against the exposed skin of the slope of her neck, down to her slender shoulders.

The owner of the lips paused, moving the barrier of her tank top strap out of the way before continuing along her shoulder. Peter peppered little kisses up her neck until resting a longer one on her lips.

"Morning," Peter crooned, his voice an octave lower than usual, just live every morning after a deep sleep.

MJ smiled, opening her eyes and stretching her limbs. Her back cracked and she breathed back, "Morning."

"Happy anniversary," Peter breathed, the usual warm sparkle in his eyes. MJ felt something shift in her chest, a swarm of stupid butterflies.

He leaned down to encase her lips with his again before she swerved away, "Rule number one."

Peter rolled his eyes earnestly, whining, "It's our anniversary."

She stretched away from Peter when he tried to press his lips against hers. "Stay back, morning breath," she warned, her face twisting in disgust as she craned as far back away from him as she can without actually moving. Peter stretched towards her, with his lips comically puckered, making cartoonish kissing sounds.

"You have morning breath too, c'mon MJ," he whined almost petulantly.

"Nope," she finally moved her body to get out of their bed, pulling Peter out with her. "We both have to brush our teeth before we can make out."

"I've been away for fifteen days saving the _world_ and my own girlfriend won't even kiss me," he huffed. But he got up anyway. He'd been away in Europe than in Africa dealing with some super-villain with the Avengers. He had only returned around one a.m. to see MJ fast asleep in bed.

The two brushed their teeth, side by side, both with urgency and their hips touching. Peter spat the toothpaste out and the two basically vaulted back in bed, under the covers, protecting themselves from the cold bite of the morning air.

Michelle leaned into his touch as he pulled her closer, his lips finally meeting hers. They melted into the kiss and MJ grabbed a handful of his T-shirt eagerly.

"You're like a child," MJ chastised jokingly, but she wrapped her arms around his neck and dragged him down to lie on top. He kissed her thoroughly like they have all the time in the world to just stay in bed, in their apartment.

"Can I just say-" Peter breathed heavily in between kisses, "I had to basically _beg_ Wilson to come home early-" he kissed her again, "and instead of coming back on the Quinjet I had to take United-" he caught his breath, "and I sat in between a 10-year-old and a Trump supporter."

MJ giggled, playing with his chocolate curls, "Oh, I feel so bad for you."

He grinned, their faces red with endorphins, "I just want the credit, you know, I remembered our anniversary."

"Uh huh."

Eventually, Peter reluctantly pulled away from the kiss and brought his forearms to rest on either side of her head so he could hover over her. His eyes roamed over her, "I missed you."

"Of course you did," MJ teased, cocking an eyebrow. He continued to stare down at her and part of her melted. Peter leaned down, dropping loving kisses on her neck. "I missed you too."

"I have the day off."

"Me too," MJ nodded, her eyes fluttering closed, cherishing the time "And it's good because the apartments a mess."

"MJ," he whined, this time it's definitely petulant. He's pushed her tank top down and is now trailing kisses along her breast bone.

"You missed two Saturdays worth of chores so I'd get started on that now if I were you," her traitorous back arches into his touch, undermining her words and authoritative tone she's going for. Peter grinned, knowing she's kidding. She's just being MJ. "This isn't one of your chores, Parker." MJ brushed her fingers through his dark hair, watching the utter adoration in his expression.

"I'll do all my chores plus more after this."

The two washed off their intertwined kisses and sweat in the hot shower before reluctantly stepping out, wrapping each other in fuzzy robes. MJ insisted they brush their teeth again, and while Peter was trying and failing to dry his hair with a towel, MJ pulled out the _probably_ by now expired and very old bottles of foundation from under the sink, placing them on the counter.

Peter eyed her curiously, "Makeup?"

Michelle hummed in response, "May is coming over soon," and gently but forcefully grabbed Peter's chin and turned it to face her. He cocked an eyebrow at her, "Do I really have that many hickies?"

MJ rolled her eyes, "Not hickies, loser, you have bruises all over your face."

Peter blinked, "Oh right. No wonder I got weird looks at the airport."

MJ snickered fondly, patting the foundation on his cheeks and neck, where admittedly, there were a few fresh forming hickies. Peter focused on her face intently, a soft grin automatically spreading on his face.

"See, this is why we make a good combination. I look at the obvious page, you look at the one that doesn't seem to have anything on it," he continued, "I heal fast, but you make sure the bruises-"

"Peter," MJ shot him as serious as a look she could at the moment, "Stop talking, I'm trying to get this foundation on."

Peter grinned, "Okay." And just stood there, content with staring at her face.

Peter excused himself to the kitchen, beginning to make pancakes, leaving MJ alone in the bathroom with her very minimal makeup skills. Her tongue stuck out while she focused on covering up the bruises on her neck, silently cursing Peter (but not really, she really didn't regret it).

Once she made her way into the kitchen, Peter had already added water to the pancake mix (don't judge, okay, they can't cook for shit) and had globbed some pancakes on the skittle, too much pancake mix in fact that the five pancakes were basically just globbing into one.

He had also turned on that stupid old, rusted record player.

He's murmuring the lyrics to himself, his back to MJ as she walks in and he tries but fails to flip the pancakes. Peter turned around, and once his eyes set on MJ, his grin spreads and he starts _belting _the song.

MJ is really hoping - _praying_ \- that wherever Louis Daniel Armstrong is right now, up there in the sky or heaven or whatever anyone believes in, he _cannot_ hear Peter basically butchering his song.

Michelle doesn't even have a second to absorb it all in before Peter has basically grabbed her by her waist, pulling her further into their beat down kitchen. She can't stop the smile from appearing on her lips, even if Peter's singing does sound like a dead animal.

He met her eyes, continuing to over exaggeratingly sing the song, and raised his eyebrows at her in expectations.

_And I think to myself_

_What a wonderful world_

She allowed him to continue swaying them around but she shook her head, "I don't sing."

He made a face, "Then I'll just have to sing louder." And then he proceeded to scream out the song, causing MJ to wince. She didn't think it was possible for him to sing any louder. Dorky ass.

_I see friends shaking hands_

_Saying, "How do you do?"_

_They're really saying_

_"I love you"_

She can't help but remember the day on the bridge five years ago to the day. Mysterio's allusions and Peter's bloody and worse for wear body. How relieved she was to see he was alright. And their first, awkward, kiss. Or more accurately, three kisses.

_And I think to myself_

_What a wonderful world_

The two were lost in each other's arms, Peter belting out the soft-spoken song like he was at a hardcore rock concert and MJ trying, yet failing, to stop herself from laughing, until the fire alarm went off, blaring them back into existence.

Peter, with wide eyes, let go of MJ instantly as he swiped the fire extinguisher from the counter and sprayed the now charred pancakes. The fire extinguisher was there out in the open for a reason, this was a weekly occurrence that their landlord had yelled about many times beforehand.

Peter wiped at his forehead, throwing away the charred pancakes and turned to face MJ again, who was already holding her phone up with the postmates app. She grinned, "What do you want?"

He rolled his eyes, "You know me too well."

_What a wonderful world. _

**. . . . .**

MJ doesn't cook. The tediousness of chopping vegetables frustrates her, her eyes well up whenever she cuts into an onion, and water takes too long to boil. The effort cooking requires never feels worth it in the end, so take out it is!

Peter's better at it than she is. But he inherited May's bad cooking skills, but at least he tries his best. His cooking is really mediocre at best, and last time he tried to cook more than eggs, he gave himself food poisoning. And between work and his nighttime vigilante antics, he doesn't usually have the time or energy.

So MJ and Peter just order take out. You can't really blame them.

And Peter is sick. For the first time Michelle has ever known him, he's sick. She honestly didn't think it was possible, but after he was fighting some lizard sewer dude (she really can't keep track anymore) and it dropped him into the Hudson River in February, the next day he woke up sniffling and coughing.

He felt like shit, it was really evident, he even called into work sick. He had spiked a fever a few hours back, and MJ had come home early from work with pure girlfriend worry syndrome. It was all too sappy for her, a little naseauting. But she did it anyway.

And she does something that even shocked herself: she _cooked_. Chicken noodle soup. Not canned (honestly that was her first choice but they were all out of the supermarket and she was _not_ about to pick up some expensive ass mediocre Whole Foods chicken noodle soup), she _actually_ made it. It couldn't be that hard, right?

Wrong.

She is over it five minutes in, but she persists, because ... she's a good girlfriend. Peter is sprawled out on their couch, all the blankets in their tiny apartment piled over him and a cool pack on his head. He's hot and cold. His body can't decide. And he's watching reruns of Brooklyn 99 but is staring at the TV screen in a zombie like fashion. Like he's there, but he's _not_. He's mentally half checked in and half checked out.

Michelle winced as she scooped some of her finished soup into a bowl and the broth slightly burned her hands. She walked towards Peter's spot on the couch and his hazy eyes find hers, immediately perking up a bit. Michelle's lips are in a tight thin smile and she places the soup on the side table, helping Peter sit up before handing him the soup.

He's staring at the homemade soup like it's some rare animal. Like the Tasmanian tiger. "I still can't believe you made this."

"Wow," MJ snorted, "I'm starting to regret it."

Peter looks up at her, smelling the soup. It smells okay. "Thank you," he croaks out, "I really do appreciate it, MJ." He sends her a wary look, "Are you not eating?"

MJ gulps, "Cooking is exhausting. And I might have eaten instant ramen while cooking it…"

Peter laughed, his sore throat breaking. MJ watched him intensely as he raised the spoon to his mouth, taking a tiny sip of the soup.

She can instantly tell he hates it.

"You hate it."

He looks up at her, shaking his head intently, "No-No no I don't."

She has spent a truly embarrassing amount of time staring at his stupid, cute face over the years, and she knows what thinly veiled disgust looks like on it.

Peter swallows, and it looks painful.

"That bad?" she asks.

"No!" He coughs. "Really good."

How could she have fucked up broth? She literally used chicken stock.

She watched, slightly embarrassed, as Peter took another bite of the soup, this time a few pieces of chicken and celery in the spoonful. He forces it down.

She can only continue to watch her sweet, sweet boyfriend, sacrifice his stomach and force down her food for a few more minutes before she grabbed the bowl of, if you could even call it chicken noodle soup, and dumped it down the sink.

Usually, she would be against wasting food. But after she had one bite of her soup, she's almost 100% sure no one would ever want to eat it. So in this particular case, she's okay with it.

"Better than May's" Peter says, trying to console her that night.

She's laying with him on the couch and surprisingly they can both fit. After Peter's insistence that he would get MJ sick and MJ insisting back that she doesn't care, Peter wrapped a blanket around them both tightly.

"It really made me feel a lot better," He wiped a curly hair out of MJ's face, "I feel a lot better now."

Michelle rolled her eyes, humming back an incoherent response.

"Do you know what else would make me feel better?" Peter whispered, his eyes fluttering shut.

MJ propped herself up on her elbow, observing his face. "If you say desert, it's a no."

He opened his eyes and grinned goofily, like a little kid. His brown hair flopped over his eyes and MJ reached down, clearing it out of his face. "If you would sing-"

"_Nope_."

"Yes," Peter insisted, his eyes forming into those damn brown puppy eyes. He had a look of mock hurt on his face and he coughed lamely into his elbow, "I am _so_ sick, MJ."

Michelle narrowed her eyes at him, and he only started back. With those stupid puppy eyes.

"You're going to be the death of me," MJ huffed, laying back down next to Peter.

"So yes?" She can feel his hands trail back to her hair, playing with her soft curls.

MJ rolled her eyes, "Get ready you're going to be really impressed." She cleared her throat theatrically, and then continued, her voice void of any emotion and intentionally flat,

"I see trees of green

Red roses too

I see them bloom

For me and-"

"Pshhh," Peter interrupts her and she grins mischievously, "That isn't singing."

"Who are you to tell me what singing is?"

"You're just speaking the lyrics, you gotta put some pep into it."

"Singing can be anything you say it is, like if you call your screaming like a dead dog _singing_, this is singing."

"That was low."

"It's the truth."

She can tell Peter is falling into the desire to sleep, his breaths are deeper and his grip on her hip has loosened. MJ props herself up slightly to see his fluttering eyes and calm face.

"You're gonna sing one day."

"Mmm," she shrugs at his sleepy face, "Maybe." She leaned down, kissing his cheek softly, before laying back down, his steady breath and the melody lulling her to sleep.

_What a wonderful world. _

**. . . . .**

"We're having a baby!"

MJ choked on her champagne and Peter's wide eyes spun in her direction in disbelief. The table was silent for a beat with MJ and Peter just staring at Ned and Betty.

"That's great!" Peter finally spoke up, out of his stunned daze. His smile was sincere as he stared at Betty and Ned's relieved faces.

MJ downed the remaining champagne in her glass and smiled, out of breath, at Betty and Ned. Her eyes wandered to Betty's sparkling water.

She should have known. They were at a restaurant with bottomless champagne. And Betty ordered water.

Water.

"I should have known," MJ spoke up, her lips quirked up, "You ordered water."

Betty's nose wrinkled up, "Psh."

"It's such a giveaway," MJ continued. She felt Peter's hand trail to her thigh and she rolled her eyes.

Ned and Betty's smiles widened into face-splitting grins, and Peter scraped his chair back to hug them both. MJ follows suit. Ned squeezes her the way he always does, too tightly. It used to make her stiffen back in high school, but now she relaxes into it, finds it comforting even if she has to bend her knees awkwardly.

She was happy for them, she really was. Ned would make a great dad and Betty a great mom. They had been on and off during college, with different schools and such. It was weird, MJ and Peter were always the consistent ones and Ned and Betty were always the wildcards. Betty Brant, a _wildcard_. It was weird.

After college they eventually moved in together, getting married less than two months later, and _bam_, pregnant in the same year.

"So, that's our news," Betty continued, "Do you two have any big announcements coming soon?"

MJ and Peter both blink at her. Peter glances at MJ and MJ pursed her lips, shrugging. Betty and Ned's eyes seem very focused and beady. MJ cleared her throat and exchanged an uncomfortable look with Peter.

"We were thinking of getting a dog," (no, no they weren't) Peter cleared his throat, "But we're not home enough for that-"

"So maybe a fish" MJ finished for him, forcing an awkward smile on her face. (They never got the fish)

Ned sighed and slumped back into his chair, pouting. Betty shook her head.

After dinner, halfway to their favorite dessert place, MJ and Peter are standing awkwardly to the side while Betty is throwing up in a bush and Ned is keeping the hair out of her face.

MJ has not a _disgusted_ look on her face, but one more of pity and just … she doesn't know. Peter blinks at the couple and leans into MJ, "I am not envious of that."

MJ snorted, "If we ever have kids, I swear to god I will kick you in the balls so hard all your sperm will die if you say _we're _pregnant."

His winces but nods. "That's fair."

**.**

It had gotten particularly bad, all the questions. The _constant_ questions.

It started after they moved in together junior year of college. And after their five year anniversary, everyone asked. It was nauseating.

_"When are you guys going to be ready for the next step?"_

_"Five years is a long time…"_

_"Moving in together helps determine if you're compatible. Long term, you know? And it seems like you areeee so-"_

_"Are there wedding bells on the horizon?"_

_"Marriage?"_

_"Babies? How many kids do you want?"_

Peter got the better end of the stick since he worked his days in the lab at the tower or compound. Most of the fellow Avengers didn't give a shit or understood his reluctance to have a kid. To have another family member in danger.

Except for Pepper Potts. She always asked him but she was a busy busy woman.

"So," Pepper asked one day at an Avengers dinner. She leaned in towards MJ and Peter and paused for a pointed, intense look, "when are you gonna make an honest man out of our lovely Peter Parker?"

Peter chuckled nervously next to her. He knew her opinion on marriage, her reluctance. Marriage was good for taxes… and she did love Peter. But she didn't feel as if they needed a piece of paper to consummate their love for each other. They loved each other, a lot, which was sickeningly sweet, and it was already pretty obvious.

She was always slightly scared of marriage. Her parents never had a good one, and it just seemed dumb. Not saying she wasn't happy for anyone who was, but she had seen countless marriages fall apart. It was scary. And not for her.

MJ shrugged, "When he learns how to cook."

Peter continued to laugh awkwardly.

Later, when driving back home, he glanced at her nervously. "Does that really bother you?"

MJ smirked, "Maybe."

No, it didn't.

**.**

May was over-helping Michelle clean her and Peter's apartment. He'd been gone for over two weeks, somewhere in Europe with the Avengers.

A crime documentary is playing in the background as MJ scrubbed the oven and May vacuumed. Peter usually hated her documentaries, and only like watching sitcoms, but with Peter gone she's free to watch all the scary murdery mysteries her heart desires.

She had watched so many in fact that it was getting a lot harder to sleep.

(She doesn't sleep as well without Peter around, either, but that's confidential information.)

Peter had tried cooking something and he forgot that plastic plus heat equals bad no no. For such a genuis he was really dumb sometimes. Idiot.

MJ blew a piece of curl out of her face as she continued to attempt to scrub the plastic out of the oven. She really didn't want to get yelled at by her landlord again.

May is vacuuming the carpet and Michelle, out of breath, sat on the ground. She took in a deep breath and stood up. Her hands smell like chemicals. She made her way into her and Peter's bathroom, washing her hands.

She feels water on her legs and she looks down, grumbling at the leaking sink. MJ opened up the cabinet under the sink and winced as she tightened up the pipes. The steady stream of water stopped and she huffed, before something in the corner of the cabinet caught her eye.

MJ gulped, immediately recognizing it as May's wedding ring, her mind going 80 miles per hour. She could hear her heartbeat in her ears. It's just sitting there. On the cabinet under the sink in the corner and she silently rolls her eyes. Of course, Peter would put it there.

MJ silent wiped up the puddle of water and made her way back out into the living room. May had put the vacuum down and was now on to dusting.

MJ, still slightly dazed with finding a wedding ring under her sink - May's wedding ring - was just standing there, watching the older woman.

May made her way over to the old record player and dusted it gingerly. May smiled, "I forgot you guys had this." Michelle watched as she turned it on, she watched the spinning record, and she heard the familiar melody start through the old speakers. Their song. Something in her chest shifted and May glanced at her warmly, "It's still pretty good isn't it?"

"Yeah," MJ breathed, nodding, immediately staring at May's bare ring finger. She gulped and grabbed another duster, accompanying May.

She pushed off the thought of the ring, her heart beating double in her chest.

She'd marry Peter, she thinks.

And the scariest part is how it doesn't seem very scary at _all_.

**.**

Europe didn't go too well, MJ discovered. She found herself at the Avengers Compound later that week, laying next to an unconscious, wounded Peter in his room.

The last time they had been there was in high school. Peter didn't like it. It reminded him of the battle with Thanos, of the bombs, the snap, Mr. Stark.

The other Avengers lived in it, so it was homey, _lived_ in. Every room had a different spin, different furniture, and colors to fit each person. It was homey. Except for Peter's room. He never stayed there at night or over the weekend like he used too. He only did during mandatory training. It was just too painful.

Michelle didn't like it because it meant something was wrong. That something didn't go as planned. Whatever extraterrestrial alien group they were fighting in Europe sliced a big fat whole right through Peter.

He was recovering, on track, he was going to be okay. But it was scary. It was scary sitting outside of the operating room, hands shaking, mind going to her worst fears, as they literally cut into Peter's body, trying to salvage his internal organs.

It's moments like these where her plans, or, not really plans. But hopes, her visions, her daydreams of her future with Peter go in a downward spiral. Where she's terrified and doesn't know if she can do this.

She's angry. She's angry about damn aliens and her stupidly selfless boyfriend. She's angry that at any waking moment could be there last. She's angry that she depends on him so much, that she feels so vulnerable and alone when he's hurt or gone on Avenger trips. She's angry that more than once a month she has to scrub his blood out of her fingernails, that she has to stitch him up.

It was an inevitability, Peter being Spider-Man. She wouldn't dream of changing his mind about that.

But there's a part of Michelle that would be lying if she didn't think it would be simpler, easier, if Peter wasn't Spider-Man. She wished that her heart wouldn't stop when he'd get some alert about something happening in the city, would roll out of bed and swing away in the night.

She'd wait when that would happen, panicked, anxious, and filled with dread until he would return. Would sometimes get nauseous at the idea that she would fall asleep and would wake up to news that would shatter her world.

The idea that Peter Parker, her selfless, idiotic, incredible, dumbass of a boyfriend, the absolute love of her life (ew), would leave her one day. That there would be a day that he'd go out on patrol, stop a robbery, be in the absolute wrong damn place at the wrong damn time…

That he wouldn't come home.

Sometimes she just watches him breathe. Sometimes she can't sleep because she just needs to make sure he's alive.

She lies there with her eyes closed, breathing heavily. She feels Peter's warm, calm, alive body next to her, and she feels like crying.

They spent the first year of their relationship not really talking about Spiderman. But after he stumbled through her bedroom window, with five bullet wounds, and passed out on her bed, the next few months they talked about it non stop. What it meant. What it entailed. And they hadn't really talked about it since.

But now, she feels like she can't breathe. Because of the wedding ring she found, and everyone asking questions, because Peter could die in that stupid red spandex suit, because he was too selfless for the world, because the world _didn't_ deserve him. Because she was scared of everything they had built over the years could fall apart in a matter of seconds.

_Because she genuinely doesn't know what she would do if anything happened to him._

But she just focuses on his breathing. That he's here and alive.

_What a wonderful world._

**. . . . .**

MJ doesn't really like vacations. Peter doesn't either.

Last time they went on a real vacation Mysterio tried to kill them… so yeah.

But in this case, the couple was pretty relieved. Pepper had sent them on a vacation to San Diego and offered them to stay in one of Stark's mansions.

They refused, of course, and paid for a week in a ratty motel next to the beach instead. It didn't matter where they stayed, most of their days were spent lounging or walking on the beach anyway. Or getting fish tacos. MJ decided fish tacos were her new favorite food.

They were both exhausted. They really needed this vacation.

They're sitting on the beach, in silence, just enjoying each other's company and the perfect California weather. MJ was thinking about the dumb restaurants that were placed right on the beach. They would be gone soon, you know, _climate change_, and ice caps. But Peter pulled her out of her trance.

"Do you want to get married?"

MJ blinked, staring at Peter in surprise. He stared at her nervously, chewing on his bottom lip.

"Because I-I do. Like a lot. But-" he stopped, his eyes wide, "Do you?"

MJ stared at him in silence, her expression softening. She nodded, still unable to make words come out of her damn mouth but Peter deflated in relief. Happiness shown through his eyes.

"Really?" He asked, smiling.

MJ nodded, "Today."

Now he's surprised, "Today?"

She nods, a gentle smile encasing her face.

"I-I" He laughed breathlessly, "I have a ring, at home."

Her eyes warmed up, "Under the sink?"

He nods dumbly and she pulls him in for a kiss. "We don't need it."

He nods again and smiles. Like the sun. And MJ melts. "Are you sure?"

She laughs, "Yes, you loser, I'm sure."

And they do. They get eloped in Malibu.

May, Ned, and Betty almost fainted when they called them. It was pretty hilarious.

They get married, sunburns and all. And they wouldn't change it for the world.

Back at their hotel room, after stuffing their faces with cheap but amazing Mexican food, Peter played their song on his phone. It's not the same as the old record player in their apartment. But it's more than enough.

Peter sang the lyrics, softer than usual. And MJ hummed along. Not quite singing.

They dance, for a stupidly long time, and they smile and laugh until their faces hurt. MJ decided Peter's laugh was one of her favorite things.

_And I think to myself_

_What a wonderful world_

_Yes, I think to myself_

_What a wonderful world_

**.**

For the first time in forever, probably her whole life, her life is perfect.

She's curled up into Peter's side, and he has a strong arm wrapped around her. Their windows are open, the soft morning sound of pacific ocean waves filtering through it.

She can't stop the smile from reaching her face as Peter kissed the top of her head as a good morning, his hot breath soothing on her skin.

"I just want to stay here. Right in this room with you forever," Peter breathed, closing his calm eyes, "Just you and me."

MJ closed her eyes, listening to his heartbeat. Alive.

"We'll put a chair under the doorknob, leave the real world out there. Let them fend for themselves."

MJ's lips quirked up and she hoisted herself up with one arm, staring at Peter's face. He looked so happy and peaceful. Looks his age.

Sometimes she can see the weight of his world in his eyes. Of his alter ego. Of Thanos, and Tony, and Ben, and the multitude of villains he's fought. Of the sights and abuse he's seen in the streets and in the world.

MJ hums, meeting his light eyes. He smiles at her and the two lean in for a sweet, soft kiss.

"We've got all we need right here," Peter breathed into the kiss, his eyes fluttering shut.

"Peter," she looks down at him, her cheeks warm, "For the first time in forever I feel as though I am where I belong, I feel happy." Peter wiped a curl out of her face. "Safe." She feels warm, like freshly baked pastries and fluttery inside.

Hopelessly in love.

But she can't stop herself from thinking. What if…

Something in her eyes changes, "I just hope we can…"

Peter reaches up, his soft fingers caressing her cheek, immediately recognizing the shift in her demeanor. "Shh." MJ's eyes soften and he pulls her back under the covers, in his strong embrace.

The knot in her chest loosens, "I love you."

"I love you."

_What a wonderful world._

**. . . . .**

"Do you want kids?"

It kinda comes out of nowhere, actually. MJ doesn't realize the question is even out of her mouth until she's just staring at Peter's surprised face.

He's sitting on the opposite side of their kitchen counter, eating lucky charms, his favorite. MJ is sipping on her coffee. They were sitting in comfortable silence, well, until her subconscious decided to break it.

She can tell he's caught by surprise as he sets his bowl of lucky charms down, his eyes deep in thought. He blinks at her, "I-I..."

She knows his doubts about children. While Peter was more than ecstatic to get married, even though they'd never talked about kids, MJ knows his reluctance. He has a dangerous alter ego friend that he dawns five out of seven days a week (they made a schedule after MJ cleaned the whole apartment by herself for a week).

Some nights the thoughts come out of nowhere (she decides it's her hormones and ovaries working together to rebel against her no kids decision). How good of a dad Peter would be. And it scares the crap out of her.

She knows deep down he wants kids.

He cleared his throat, "Do _you_?"

She stares back at him and shrugs. "Maybe."

"One day."

She nods, "One day."

He asks her about it next week before they go to bed. He had just gotten out of the shower and she was reading her next article, proofreading it.

"When would you want kids?"

This time she's caught off guard. She sets her article down and stares back at Peter's thoughtful gaze. She decides to swerve the question, "When would _you_ want kids?"

He stares back at her, "It's not my decision. I'm not the one that would be pregnant."

MJ clears her throat, and turns off her bedside lamp, leaving the room in darkness. She snuggles into the warm covers and she feels Peter's hand trail it's way around her waist like every night. "Someday, _maybe_. When we don't eat ramen noodles every night."

He chuckles quietly, his chest rumbling and MJ's heart twists warmly. "Cooking skills are a prerequisite?"

"Yep," she answers, popping the p.

**. . . . .**

She's standing on her toes, trying to grab the glass vase from the top shelf without having to go to the pantry and grab the step stool.

Call her stubborn.

Or maybe just stupid.

She would call herself stupid.

She _does_ end up getting the glass vase down, but she breaks it too. It breaks all over her arm, and she winces as it clatters to the ground. She doesn't even realize she's bleeding until she spots the deep red dots on the ground.

"Shit," the pain starts to set in and MJ winces, quickly grabbing a kitchen towel and wrapping it around the cut on her forearm. Her eyes glance to the clock, taking in the time, "Shit." She's going to be late.

MJ, using her foot, scooted the broken glass from the vace into the corner of the kitchen as best she could, reminding herself to clean it up later, and was about to grab her car keys out of her work bag before she heard the window from her bedroom open, quite violently.

She blinked, slightly in alarm, and made her way over to her and Peter's bedroom. MJ blinked in surprise upon seeing Peter standing there, in his spiderman suit, a far away, dazed and alerted look in his eyes.

"MJ." His voice sounds relieved and he clears his throat, blinking.

She blinked at him, confused, "Hey, I was just about to leave to pick you up I thought-" Before she could finish her sentence, Peter had already bounded across their bedroom, pulling her into a tight hug. She stopped, dead in her tracks, and stood there as Peter held her, his body shaking.

His anxious eyes find hers. His voice is trembling and he looks dazed, confused. Like he looked that one summer with Mysterio's illusions. "Hey," she starts.

"You're hurt." He chokes out, his eyes dead set on the bloody towel she had wrapped around her arm.

"It's fine," she tries to soothe him.

"What… What happened?" He asks, his hands and voice still trembling with worry and shock and… MJ can't even begin to imagine what could have happened on the mission. She was supposed to pick him up and the compound.

"I-" she gulps, "I have to admit it was stupid and clumsy. But it was impatient and I tried to get that big glass vase off the top shelf without a step stool. May asked to borrow it…" she chuckled lightly, "But I dropped it and it broke."

She expected Peter to chuckle, or smile at least. Maybe tease her. But instead she watched as his eyes filled with tears, and it started to stream down his cheeks. She stared at him in alarm, concern seeping in her voice, "Hey, hey, _Peter_."

"You're hurt," he repeated, a hollow look in his eyes.

"Not much," she insists, pulling back to the bloody rag to show him the cut on her arm, "It's stopped bleeding." She raised up a hand to wipe the steady stream of tears down his cheek, "I'm okay."

Peter doesn't hesitate to guide her into the bathroom in silence. She watches, trying to understand, as he cleans out the cut and wraps it in a bandage. The look in his eyes never fades.

"Peter," she reaches up to cup his face, searching his sad eyes, "What happened?"

He blinks down at her, trying to stop the tears from falling. He takes in a shaky breath, "I had to get back- make sure you were okay." His voice breaks and MJ's heart crumbles, "I-I saw things and-"

"Shh," MJ pulls him into her embrace as he shakes. She runs her hand soothingly through his curls and pressed the spider emblem on his suit. She helps in step out of it and gets changed into a baggy sweatshirt.

Peter doesn't say anything for the rest of the night. He just watches MJ with a faraway look in his eyes as she cleans up the glass and makes them hot chocolate.

MJ does something she thought she'd never do.

She turns on their old, rusty, record player. The familiar, heartwarming melody starts to play. She's standing in front of Peter and he looks up at her weakly as she tugs on his hands, propelling him forward.

He weighs a lot more than he looks. Damn muscle. But eventually, she has him up. And she wraps her arms around his back, swaying. After a while, he rests his head on her shoulder.

She even stuns herself. She starts to sing.

"The colors of the rainbow, So pretty in the sky, Are also on the faces, Of people going by," she feels Peter relax in her arms and she takes in another breath, "I see friends shaking hands, Saying, 'How do you do?', They're really saying, 'I love you'".

Peter looks up at her, meeting her eyes, and he smiles sadly. "I thought you didn't sing?"

MJ shrugs, her lips quirking up at his warmer eyes, and she just continued to sing, "And I think to myself, What a Wonderful World".

The two swayed for what felt like hours until her voice was hoarse and Peter had been lulled into a peaceful sleep, the horrors of his mission escaping his mind.

**. . . . .**

One day, it _happens_. It's not like they were trying, but they _had_ been a bit sloppy. Not super sloppy, but not as strict as they once were.

One day when she's passing by a random bodega on her way to work, MJ gets a weird feeling. Her heart churns and she blinks.

Tampons.

_Tampons_.

She can barely focus on the rest of the day. So she leaves work early. She walks past the random bodega again on her way back from work.

_Tampons_.

A spike of panic coursed through her and she stops walking. Fellow New Yorkers send her dirty looks so she stands to the side of the sidewalk, her fist clenching and unclenching.

So she buys a pregnancy test, you know, just in case. She actually buys three. Just in case.

The second Peter walks through the door, or more accurately, swings in through their window, she's forced the three pee sticks in his hands without any worrying. Peter stares down at the sticks, the spiderman mask's eyes widen comically, and he tears his mask off, his wide surprised eyes meeting MJ's anxious ones.

He squeaks, "_Pregnant_?"

She gulps and stares back at him, her voice barely above a whisper. "I think so."

A wide smile spreads across Peter's face and he laughs breathily. MJ smiles back at him and Peter blinks, his eyes widening even more as he stares down at the pee sticks. He pulls her into a deep kiss instantly, and MJ wraps her hands around his neck, relief basically flowing off of her.

"You should probably wash your hands," MJ whispers, emotion in her voice, "I peed on those."

Peter shook his head, wiping his tears, "I don't care. I'm just so happy."

They're unbelievably scared but so so happy.

A week later he signs them up for cooking classes.

_What a wonderful world. _

**. . . . .**

One day it all came true.

MJ woke to the sensation of a warm hand between her shoulder blades. She sighed, relaxing further into her pillows. She rolled onto her stomach, letting the warm hand press further into the tense muscles of her shoulders and back.

One hand became two as the bed shifted slightly under her, but she paid no attention. The familiar smell of Peter's lavender shampoo and his body heat a told her that she was safe. She knew that she was safe.

"How do you sleep when you're this tense?" A low, morning voice said near her ear.

"Hmmm," MJ mumbled. She stretched after a moment, rolling over to look up at Peter.

"Are you okay? How are you feeling today?" Peter asked, putting an arm over her. He looked down at her, slowly brushing her hair out of her face.

MJ thought for a moment, stretching slowly, "pretty good, actually."

MJ felt Peter's warm hand extend over the faint bump on her abdomen. He rubbed a thumb over her skin, smiling, "how's baby? Little Benji?"

"Also good," MJ said, "still too small to really do much of anything except grow." She meets his gaze, "How do you know it's a boy?"

Peter chuckled and ignored her, tracing small designs on her belly. MJ recognized a few hearts in there. She watched affectionately at his warm eyes and her lips quirked up automatically.

MJ sat up slightly, pressing a light kiss to Peter's collarbone. He reached up, winding his hands into her hair. He hummed quietly, low in his chest. MJ smiled. She lifted her head to look into his eyes, smiling wider at the warmth in his face.

"I love it when your hair is down," Peter murmured, brushing his fingers through her hair again. When he reached the end, his fingers found the base of her skull. He curled them slightly and pulled her mouth to his. MJ smiled, kissing him back.

She watched as he slowly made his way out of bed, going into their kitchen and eventually returning with decaf coffee for both of them. She made him promise he wouldn't drink caffeine until she could again.

He hands her the morning paper, which she takes gratefully, skimming the pages.

He just continues to stare at her, his eyes thoughtful. She looks up, her face heating up upon seeing his intense stare. "What?"

Peter's lips quirked up and he shrugs. His fingers find her curls again, playing with them, "All my dreams have come true." He blinks at her, "I just love you. A lot."

His fingers find her chin, pulling her into a soft, emotional kiss. All the thoughts and prayers being reciprocated through it. It makes her feel dizzy.

"I love you too," she breathes, her eyes warm.

She watches as Peter gets dressed quickly, leaving work earlier than usual. He gives her a peck on the cheek and she feels his warm hand rest on her stomach for a few lingering seconds.

"I'll see you tonight," she wraps herself in a blanket as she walks him to their apartment's front door.

Peter smiles at her and nods, "I'll pick up thai. We're telling May tonight, right?"

MJ sits on one of the kitchen counters and nods. Peter grins back at her, blowing her a kiss before the door shuts behind him.

MJ stares at the door for a few moments and then got dressed for work herself.

She wishes she could have cherished it. Wishes she could have known how precious those moments were.

Her phone rings halfway through a pretty important meeting at work. She silences it the first time, not sparing to look at the caller ID.

It rings again. And after getting a nasty look from her boss, she looked down at the ID, and she swore her heart stopped.

She didn't even excuse herself out of the meeting. She just stood up, ignoring the curious and slightly offended glares of her fellow coworkers, and ran to her desk, her hands shaking.

Every fear.

Every panicked thought.

Every nightmare she's ever had.

She feels it crashing down on her. Feels the world moving around her while she stands still.

Something's wrong. She knows it. She knows it. She can feel it.

Her phone is blaring an alert for her, from Peter's suit, but she tries to ignore it as best as she can, trying to remember what to do. She feels a wave of nausea overtake her and MJ clamps her lips shut, blinking back tears.

She quickly made her way to her desk, typing something quickly out on her phone to the Avengers compound. To anyone that could help. Her phone rings with new messages from Ned, May, Happy. _Stay inside. _

She wants to scream as she turns on her office's TV. The news report is on and all she can see is fire and explosions and that stupid green goblin flying around with flashes of red and blue.

She leaves her phone at her desk, not being able to take the stream of notifications she's getting, and she just lets her frantic legs take her. She's running through the streets. All she can hear is her own heart beating in her chest. Too loud and too fast.

She can see him from a distance, a few streets down, alive. Sure, he's fighting a fucking maniac. But he's alive. She stops running and leans on a pole. There's a laugh and a scream and the warning is ripped from her throat. Her body automatically drops down, one second before the world goes up in flames and a deep explosion rattles the buildings around her.

Her ears are ringing and there's dust and debris flying around the air when she finally opens her eyes. Its less than a minute later but it feels like a century and MJ stands up shakily. The pole isn't there anymore.

She blinks, her vision blurry, as she watches people in their work clothes streaming out of nearby buildings. She hears screams and for a moment freezes as she stares at a woman, a cut on her forehead, crying. Sobbing.

MJ blinks, and then steps forward, past the women and the crowd forming in the streets. She coughs, panic starting to set in. The ringing in her ears is fading and is being replaced by terrifying cries and car alarms. But other than that, silence.

A nightmare.

It's a waking nightmare.

Michelle starts running, faster than her feet can even keep up. All she can think of is Peter. Where is Peter?

There is a group of people huddled around him and MJ begins to shake. All she can see is Peter, focused only on Peter.

Who is on the ground. Unmoving.

The group of people huddled around her husband seem to know, they create a pathway and MJ stumbles to his side. Tears are streaming down her face and she feels like she can't breathe. This can't be real.

She's asleep and Peter's going to wake her up. He's going to hug her with his warm hands and warm smile and he's going to be alive.

She's aware that Bucky and Wanda have arrived, both alerted from her call. They've found the Goblin, they're taking care of it.

Michelle couldn't give a damn. She stumbles over herself as she gets to Peter, hands shaking as she turns him over, rips off his mask.

A part of her registers that she should care about his identity, should be mindful if there are any other civilians around to see.

A greater part of her could care less, hands shaking as she took in Peter's face.

His face is too white, too pale. His eyes are barely open.

"Peter? Peter, look at me—look at me, Peter." Her voice was shaking and her warm hands cup his cold face. "Come on, Peter."

Her eyes look over his body, his wounds. There's blood everywhere.

Michelle is nauseous at the sight, even having gotten used to mending Peter from his scrapes, from his bruises. She's done it countless times, has mended his broken body over and over again.

But this… this is beyond her.

His pale eyes met hers and she chokes on a sob. He lifts his hand, one of his fingers weekly meets her hands cupping his face.

Peter can't die. He can't die.

She hears another explosion to her left from where Wanda and Bucky are taking care of Norman fucking Osborn. But she can't hear it. She's just focused on Peter's weakening face, pale eyes.

Michelle looks down, focusing on Peter's face. He's panting, eyes transfixed onto her face.

Michelle can feel the tears falling and tries to wipe them away, to stop them from falling onto him.

He reaches up to touch her face, wheezing slightly and MJ sobs, leaning into his touch. He caresses her cheek lightly. He opens his mouth but MJ stops him, "No-No okay, Peter? Save your energy. We can talk later."

She even doubts herself. And she sees the doubt and finality in his eyes.

Peter blinks again, forcing himself to speak. She should've known, even then, that his Parker stubborn streak wouldn't listen.

"I-I love you." The croak of his voice takes the wind out of her, the rasp and wetness of his words causing Michelle's heart to break more than she thought possible. She grasps his hand in hers.

The grief, the expanse of a world without him, empty and cold, lies in front of her.

"Look at me, just look at me," she croaks, her voice breaking, not sounding even half as broken as she feels, "it's okay."

Peter does, eyes focusing on her. It's a moment of clarity, a moment that somewhere in Michelle knows signifies that this is it. The surge right before the end.

This is it.

All she does is hold him, looks into his eyes as he says the words that break her heart.

"You're going to b-be okay." He breaths, MJ barely able to hear him. "I.. I just—I want you t-to be all-alright," He gasps in pain, his breath catching.

His eyes start to become glassy and she's shaking. She shakes her head and he stares back at her, so intently, focused. He's trying so hard, she realizes.

_You're going to be okay. _He stares at her. _Please, MJ. It's going to be okay._

She realizes he's saying goodbye. She realizes all her stupidly selfless amazing husband wants is to make sure she's going to be okay. He wants to see her okay before he goes. And she can't take it. He won't let go until he knows _she's going to be okay. _

She can't take it that in his last moments, in his pain, he needs to see her accept it. So she does. And she cries harder.

Peter sees the acceptance in her eyes. _I'll be okay. I'm going to be okay. _She sees the pain in his eyes fade into calmness and acceptance. "You can let go now," she whispers, "We're going to be okay, Peter. You can let go."

MJ takes in a shaky breath and moves his head in her lap. Her hands cup his face, caressing his cheek lovingly. He closes his eyes and his face calms. He looks like he's sleeping. He looks like he's in their bed, MJ has woken up before him, and she's just staring at his calm, warm, alive face. He looks peaceful.

He inhales, Michelle, clutching his face.

And then he stops. Heartbreaking as she sees his color start to dim.

He's gone. And a part of MJ is too.

MJ's not really sure when May got there. She feels her hand on her shoulder, shaking her slightly, but MJ can't tear her eyes away from Peter's face.

He's gone now. Has been for a few minutes, or seconds, or hours. MJ can't tell how long she'd been sitting there, his cold face in her lap, just staring down at him, silent tears streaking down her face.

Agony.

Aching.

Her living nightmare comes to life. Every fear, every anxiety, every terror she's ever had – nothing can compare to the desolation she feels in those first few moments.

All she can see is Peter.

Hold Peter.

Her dumbass husband. The love of her life.

Peter's stopped breathing.

Her breath catches.

Peter's dead.

Peter is _dead_.

She knows that she should probably do something, should move or try to say something.

But she can't.

She's lost. The wave, the tsunami of grief overwhelming her.

It's the end.

Peter's dead. He's dead. He stopped breathing.

It's every nightmare come to life.

Peter's dead.

Michelle closes her eyes, her hand still clutching onto Peter. His body. Her eyes close as the nausea – the agony – overwhelms her.

A million memories flash through Michelle's mind.

Peter before the Snap – when she was too shy to talk to him

Peter after – sad, and mourning, but still filled with love and so much light.

The way the corner of his eyes would crinkle when she'd walk up, his laugh – a sound that used fill up Michelle's entire being.

Their awkward romance.

The moments they shared together in their early days, in high school, in college.

His eyes, his beautiful brown eyes, searching hers, filled with love and lust and desire.

Movie nights spent curled up together.

Teasing and joking over lunch.

The long and lazy days spent in his apartment. The nights they barely slept at all.

Lazy mornings. Staying in bed. Wrapped in each other's arms.

Their impromptu wedding. Dancing. Singing.

Their song.

His stupid stupid, amazing, dancing.

His horrible singing.

She would give anything to hear him sing again.

All of it comes crashing down on Michelle.

But what's worse for Michelle, the agony that rips through her, is the thought of the memories he'll never get to make.

Buying a house.

Peter being a dad.

Growing old.

Because he can't now. He won't.

Peter's dead.

He's gone.

She feels broken.

_What a wonderful world._

The records broken.

**.**

The next weeks are a blur. She locks herself in her and Peter's apartment.

She made the mistake of turning the TV on once, pictures of Peter all over the news. Stories of thankful citizens. Pictures of flowers and memorials set up all through the city.

She threw a shoe, out of rage and grief at the TV. And watched as it broke.

That's all she felt now. Broken.

May and Ned and Betty tell her about the funeral the Avengers and New York City held for Peter. But she doesn't care. MJ locks herself in their bedroom, laying on his side of the bed, smelling his scent in his pillow. It's faint and old, but it still smells like him. But it's not the same.

People who know her personally leave flowers at her door, packages, cards, gifts. She gets countless concerned texts, emails, calls, but she doesn't return any of them. May brings them in each night, setting them out on the dining room table, hoping MJ would take notice.

She just can't handle it all.

She feels hollow. And angry. And sad. And broken.

Betty and Ned come to see her every day. They even bring their infant daughter. They cook her food, coax her out of her bedroom, try to call her out of her own mind. Some days she's better than others.

May spends every night in her apartment with MJ. MJ knows it's to make sure she doesn't do anything to herself, and she really doesn't blame May. May sleeps in the spare room of her apartment and MJ sleeps alone in Peter and her bedroom. Her bedroom.

Peter's gone.

_May is brushing her knotted hair one day. MJ just sits there. _

"_When Ben died, MJ, I wasn't myself for months." May took in a shaky breath, "We always want selfless people in the world. To make the world a better place. But when you know them personally, it's selfish but, all you want is for them to be a little bit more selfish. So they take priority over themselves." May was silent for a moment, working through a particularly intense knot. "When Ben died I was angry, and I felt lost and alone…" she paused, "but it gets easier, over time."_

"_How do I-" MJ just stares, numbly. Her voice is sore and rough from disuse except for crying, "How do I love again? How will I ever be… "_

_May was silent, "When you love someone they're part of you forever."_

_How do I love, how do I love again?_

_How do I trust, how do I trust again?_

A week after Peter's death she finally appeared out of her bedroom. May, Betty, and Ned are beyond relieved. She doesn't do much besides sitting on the couch, listening to them talk, watch the streets outside, or just sit in silence.

Her eyes would travel to the old record player in the corner of the room, and her heart would clench uncontrollably. She couldn't. So she would turn to face the other direction and wrap herself in a blanket.

She spends her nights awake, deathly awake. Staring up at the wall. The tears stop after a while, she goes dry, but she wants to cry, to scream, to yell at the world. The world that never deserved Peter Parker.

_Yelling at the sky_

_Screaming at the world_

_Baby, why'd you go away?_

_I'm still your girl_

_Holding on too tight_

_Head up in the clouds_

_Heaven only knows where you are now_

She hopes he's up there. She was never religious, but in these moments, she hopes she's peaceful. And she hopes he knows that she's going to be okay. That she's not mad. That she doesn't hate him.

She's going to be okay.

As many times as she's told herself that, over the days, in her dreams, over and over in her mind, she doesn't believe herself. But she has to be.

Her hands trail down to her small bump and she wants to scream.

She has to be okay. Because even though Peter may be physically gone - she can't touch him anymore, she can't kiss him, or talk to him - part of him is still there.

_How do I love, how do I love again?_

_How do I trust, how do I trust again?_

She wishes she could go back and cherish their moments together. Their last kiss. Their last hug. Their last mornings and moments together. Their last dance.

_I stay up all night, tell myself I'm alright_

_Baby, you're just harder to see than most_

_I put the record on, wait 'til I hear our song_

_Every night, I'm dancing with your ghost_

_Every night, I'm dancing with your ghost_

Some nights, she feels him. Like he's there. She feels his hands on her and his kisses and his comforting presence. But it's cold. And hollow.

But she feels him, and she knows he's there. Looking down at her. She knows he wants her to be alright. To move on. To live a full life.

She's going to try, but it's hard. Really hard to live in a world without Peter Parker.

_Never got the chance_

_To say a last goodbye_

_I gotta move on_

_But it hurts to try_

Two weeks after Peter's death, May finds out. A bad wave of morning sickness hits MJ and she spends most of her days leaned over the toilet.

"Do you have any Dramamine?" May calls from MJ's bedroom as MJ's puking out dinner, _again. _

"The bedside table," MJ croaked out, resting her hot head on the cool toilet seat.

She hears and feels the vibrations of May's footsteps. It goes silent for a while and then May's opened the bathroom door, an unreadable look on her face and a picture in her hands.

MJ immediately knows what's happened. She opened Peter's bedside table.

MJ looks up at her weakly as May stares down at the sonogram photo. May's shocked eyes met MJ's and MJ sighed, "I'm pregnant."

May helps her stand up from the bathroom floor, gently helps her swallow the Dramamine, and after she thinks MJ has fallen asleep, closes the bedroom door behind her.

When May thinks MJ's sleeping, MJ hears her cry. And MJ cries alongside her.

_How do I love, how do I love again?_

_How do I trust, how do I trust again?_

_I stay up all night, tell myself I'm alright_

_Baby, you're just harder to see than most_

_I put the record on, wait 'til I hear our song_

_Every night, I'm dancing with your ghost_

_Every night, I'm dancing with your ghost_

Her first night alone in her apartment, without May, was a month after Peter's death.

She couldn't sleep. So she had padded out into her living room and sat on her couch, staring out the window. She always loved Queens at night.

Her eyes eventually traveled over to the old record player in the corner of the living room. Her heart ached, but she stood up and turned it on softly.

She sat back down on the couch and leaned back, closing her eyes and listening to the song.

_How do I love, how do I love again?_

_How do I trust, how do I trust again?_

_I stay up all night, tell myself I'm alright_

_Baby, you're just harder to see than most_

_I put the record on, wait 'til I hear our song_

_Every night, I'm dancing with your ghost_

_Every night, I'm dancing with your ghost_

_Every night, I'm dancing with your ghost_

She hummed along to it, her fingers softly caressing the small bump on her abdomen. She breathed, "I see trees of green, Red roses too…" She went silent, cleared her throat, "I hear babies cry, I watch them grow, They'll learn much more, Than I'll never know…"

MJ opened her eyes, feeling a tear trail down her cheek but she smiled sadly, "And I think to myself, What a wonderful world"

_Yes, I think to myself_

_What a wonderful world_

"_When you love someone they're part of you forever."_

. . . . . .

Six months later she becomes a mother. And somewhere Peter becomes a father.

May holds her hand through the entire, laborious, painful, ordeal. She holds her hair back as she vomits, she wipes her tears and sweat away, she condoles all her worries and fears.

MJ gave birth in the comfort of her own home, out of the public eye. She has to protect what she has left of him.

"He should be here," she cried.

May nodded, wiping MJ's hair out of her face, staring at her nervous eyes, "I know, sweetie, I know. It's almost over."

So MJ pushed, and cried, and crushed May's hand.

And then it was over and there was a sound the likes of which MJ had never heard. It was beautiful, like music, and it was echoed by May's overjoyed laughter.

The midwife announced it was a boy and handed MJ over her and Peter's baby. MJ laughed tiredly and held her son to her chest. "He's here," MJ breathed. Her son wailed against her skin, but she just rubbed his back gently.

Her babies cry was the most beautiful thing she had ever heard.

"He's beautiful," May said, wiping a tear, as she stared down at her nephew's son.

"He's perfect." MJ agreed, closing her eyes.

MJ couldn't sleep that night. She couldn't tear her eyes off of her son's perfect little face. _Little Ben. _He looked so much like Peter. He had his eyes, and nose, and face structure. He was perfect.

She lulled him to sleep after nursing him, making sure he didn't make much sound to wake May up in the accompanying bedroom.

She murmured soft things to him, the vibrations of her voice calming him. He hand was splayed across her collarbone, opening and closing randomly, and his chubby cheek was pressed against her breast.

She was unbelievably tired but so happy.

MJ walked out into the living room, softly turning on the old record player. She sat down on the couch and stared down at her son's face, his eyes closing with drowsiness from the music and his mother's singing.

"_I see trees of green_

_Red roses too_

_I see them bloom_

_For me and you_

_And I think to myself_

_What a wonderful world"_

MJ kissed her sons head, continuing.

"_I see skies of blue_

_And clouds of white_

_The bright blessed day_

_The dark sacred night_

_And I think to myself_

_What a wonderful world"_

At that moment, she felt Peter. She knew he was there. MJ felt her throat thicken with emotion and she smiled softly.

"_The colors of the rainbow_

_So pretty in the sky_

_Are also on the faces_

_Of people going by_

_I see friends shaking hands_

_Saying, 'How do you do?'_

_They're really saying_

'_I love you'"_

She looked back down at Ben's tiny face, who was now sleeping.

"_I hear babies cry_

_I watch them grow_

_They'll learn much more_

_Than I'll never know_

_And I think to myself_

_What a wonderful world"_

MJ tilted her head up and closed her eyes. A tear fell down her cheek and she smiled.

"_Yes, I think to myself_

_What a wonderful world"_

* * *

**Hi, okay. I don't know why I wrote this. For some reason the hype of seeing FFH + listening to Dancing With Your Ghost the same day translated into THIS? I LOVE MAKING MYSELF CRY, OKAY. Which, idk, I wish I knew how my brain works. But….. hehe. Oof.**

**If you DID make it this far, thank you. I'm shocked. Let me know what you think.**


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